Hearts a Mess
by rauras
Summary: Ally is troubled. Austin has everything going for him. The last thing either of them would've expected out of Senior year was each other. AU and OOC.
1. Chapter 1: Stinging Skin

_**Hearts a Mess**_

_**Chapter 1: Stinging Skin**_

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_"We're so happy, even when we're smilin' out of fear."  
_

_-Lorde "Tennis Court"_

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Keeping your head down in school is just easier, I learned that in Sophomore year. Plus, it makes it easier to count your footsteps when you're staring at your shoes. My worn black converse take-

_**One, two.** It's after hours, no one is around. **Three, four.** The halls are empty, you can raise your eyes. **Five, six.** God, your shoes are loud when you aren't surrounded by rushing kids._

I give up consciously counting after that even though the little numbers still trickle by in the back of my mind. It's just as much a habit as walking with my head down by now. Anything would be when you've been doing it for going on three years. I knew high school would never be completely easy, even as early as my second year here, but I never imagined I'd still be counting my steps at the beginning of Senior year. I guess things don't always work out how you think they will.

Walking a little quicker now, I tuck a lock of my wavy brunette hair behind my ear so I can take a short glance at my surroundings. I'm still alone, as far as I can see. It's a bit unnerving, seeing a school as big as Marino be completely empty, but I guess no one wanted to stick around on the first day of school- I didn't really want to either, _I shouldn't have, _but it's my last first day, and I'll have to deal with the consequences later. I don't know how much I'll miss these off-white brick walls until I'm gone. They've been lonely, but at the same time my only savior. Then again, how can I even be sure that he'll let me leave?

Getting emotional is the last thing I want to do right now, so I wipe the non-existent sweat of my palms off on my skinny jeans, smooth out my yellow scoop neck tee, and fix the straps of my backpack. I even make sure my white infinity scarf is in place, then I mentally congratulate myself for trying to look nice today, even though I did put on a scarf during a Florida summer. I decide that I still get an A+ for effort, and work next at swallowing the lump that attempted to form in my throat. Even though I'm alone, no one is going to see me upset; I won't risk it. _No one _sees me upset. It's not like they'd care, anyway; that I know for sure.

Things weren't always bad. Freshman year was pretty good, well the majority of it. I had friends, I had fun, and most importantly, I had my future. I've always made good grades, outstanding ones really, and I've never had to try. Of course, me being me, I still did, and because of my intelligence, my _thirst!_ for knowledge, and my work ethic everyone was sure I'd have a scholarship and career of my choice in the bag. Studying was just a part of me back then, like my dark hair or the sparkle in my chestnut eyes. But, just like the sparkle, the studying died; I still make good grades, though. It must be hard for life to entirely rob a person of their former self. I must admit that it has done a damn good job of it thus far, though.

A week before Freshman year ended, the week after final exams, you know the one where you're allowed to do whatever you want as long as you don't tear down the walls or wake the exhausted teacher, I was informed that something had gone wrong during my mother's trip. She used to study animals, you see. She'd travel all around the world, observe the most interesting species the world had to offer, and write research books on them. She was an exact older replica of me: bright, bustling, excited to be living, to be doing something that made a difference. Everyone said they saw her in me exactly. I still don't know why her jeep engine had to fail in Africa, or why she was taken from me just before I would need her the most. Hell, I don't even know about the African apes. Now, I'm left with no mom, no new research book, and an ever-increasing number of face down footsteps. How long is this God forsaken hallway, anyway?

I finally reach the door just as I'm about to scream from the quiet when it opens in on me and smacks hard into my chest. I'm not a very big girl, 17 years old and only 5'2. As I fall backwards to the floor, I catch myself with the outstretched palms of my hands and silently wish I had more weight. It probably could've helped absorb some of the blow. Too bad for my poor hands; I pull one up to examine it, and it glows a screaming red.

Before I can make a move to get up, another hand comes into my view. It isn't a beet red color, and I smirk to myself. _I bet your hands don't feel like they've been doused in gasoline and lit up. Thanks for opening the door, bud. _Raising my head, I follow the hand up the owner's arm until I see their face through a curtain of my loose hair. _Of course it's you. I wouldn't have suspected anyone else. _

Attached to the appendage is none other than Marino's very own resident Golden Boy. His title is fitting too; tan skin, blonde waves, standing at least 6 foot with a million watt smile and enough sports talent to lead us to State in three different sports three years in a row. _Go Manatees! _I scoff and lift myself up, brushing off my jeans as I do so. I don't need help up from Austin Moon; I wouldn't want to burden someone as_ perfect_ as him.

"Oh shit, hey, look I didn't see you there. Sorry 'bout that." He goes on mumbling something about damn doors while I stand there and stare at him like he's an idiot. He's dressed in full football uniform, a yellow and white jersey with blue lettering and yellow pants, and his hair is soaked through with sweat to the point that it appears almost a light brown shade. I piece together that they must've just finished practice. _Shit, have I been here that long?_ My heart starts to pitter and patter a bit faster, and the only coherent thought I can form in the moment is that Nathan is going to be _pissed_. That is _not _a good thing.

Shaking my head at Perfect Boy, I start to move around him for the door.

"Look, it's whatever. Thanks for not opening it faster." I push open the door, and I can feel his eyes on me as I beeline to the parking lot. He's probably not used to being interrupted. He's Austin Moon, people feel special when they get to talk to him, like they've been inducted into his special little club full of special little people that he's never wanted to speak with more than them. He has that quality, charm that makes you believe there's no one in the world he'd rather be carrying on a conversation with. Too bad for him, but I haven't had time for clubs since Freshman year. I pour my weakness to charm down the kitchen sink every morning with the rest of my black coffee. He may mean everything to Marino, but he means nothing to me.

The only thing that means anything right now is getting to Nate's car before he gets too angry. I spot the dark sports car in no time and hurry over to it as fast as I can. I tug my lips up when I reach the passenger door. He likes a happy Ally, so Happy Ally he'll get.

I pull open the door and slide into the leather seat, setting my bag at my feet, before I close the door carefully. That's another thing I learned; you never, and I mean _never, _slam the doors of his car. That would be a mistake. I buckle up and make sure my lips haven't fallen into another setting before I finally turn to him. It's such a shame that he's so beautiful, and he really is. Soft, brown hair, sharp bone structure, smooth skin, and long, dark lashes that fan out above calm sea green eyes. Except, right now, they aren't calm. The weather man must have predicted a storm off the coast because I can see the waves crashing on the rocks reflected back at me. I look like I'm about to be thrown against them, so I reach out a hand to him.

"Hey, babe I'm sorry I'm late I-" My face cracks left, and my soft tone dies off in the spacious vehicle. My right cheek must resemble the blotches of fire that formed on my palms earlier, and I wonder how many times a girl has to be tossed into a rock on the edge of shore before she dies. I don't try to guess, that takes time. Slowly, I bring my gaze back up to him and fight any tears or choked up sounds. I still smile through the searing pain.

"I've been sitting here for 30 minutes. I thought I was going to have to go in there and drag your dumbass out." He doesn't even make eye contact with me, just looks forward, both hands on the steering wheel now. Does his hand hurt like my face? Probably not.

"I'm sorry, Nate, really I am. Please-" He cuts me off again, his right hand in the air. He brings that same hand back down to the ignition and presses the "push to start" button. The engine roars to life. It's not until we're flying out onto the road that he addresses me again.

"Next time, I'm going to leave you. Or I'll come in and kill whoever you were with. You were with someone else weren't you?" He flicks his stormy eyes to me quickly, then adjusts his mirrors, speeds up a bit. We were already doing 30 miles over the limit. "You've always been a slut." He spits the last word at me, and my stomach drops.

"Oh, no. No. You know me. I would never…" I trail off, and drop my gaze to my lap where my hands sit, entwined tightly together. When he gets like this, it's not even worth trying to fight back. Angry Nate is not my favorite Nate. I like funny, loving Nate. The one who noticed me when everyone else only saw a strange, quiet girl. I couldn't help that I was 15, and my mom had just died. Sue me for being confused.

"Maybe next time, I will just leave. How does that sound? The only person who gives a shit about you gone because you're a stupid whore." He drops his tone, it gets darker, more pointed at me. "Without me, you have _no one_." He's mostly right. He's all I do have, other than my father. My father is a completely different story, though. He tried his best after my mother died, but the fact of the matter was that he was heartbroken. He did the only thing he knew to do, throw himself into business and create a bustling music store. My mother would've liked it, and I would too if I still let myself think about music. My dad did his best, so I don't blame him for his fallen daughter.

We're already pulling onto my street at this point. I guess Nathan didn't want to waste anymore of his time; I don't blame him. I wouldn't spend time on me either.

He comes to a screeching halt in my driveway, and reaches over to put a hand on my thigh before I can unbuckle my belt. He squeezes my skin through my pants, and I know he wants my attention. Looking me in the eyes, he tightens his grip even further. It hurts now, a lot, but I don't mention it.

"Remember that, Ally. I'm all you have. Without me, you have _no one_." I nod as he continues to search my eyes with his own. He releases me thigh, pleased, and smiles, softening his eyes. There he is, my Nathan. My Nate with his foamy green eyes and easy-going grin. "Come here." He kisses me on the mouth quickly and pats my hands on my lap. "I love you." He says, sweetly. I nod earnestly.

"I love you, too." He grins and nods himself. He reaches over me and opens my door. I get out and scoop down to look into the car at him.

"I'll be here in the morning to get you for school. Bye, Allyson." I shut the door and watch as he backs out of my gravel drive and speeds off.

"Bye." I whisper to no one in particular and turn to walk inside. I need to get ice on my face; Nate doesn't like it when I bruise.

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**Well, this is my first attempt at an A&A story on this account! I haven't written any fanfic lately, so I apologize for any rustiness! I hope you like it, and let me know what you think in the reviews!**

**As always, I own nothing but the plot and any original characters. Thanks for reading!**

**-Taylor**


	2. Chapter 2: Human Rock

_**Hearts a Mess**_

_**Chapter 2: Human Rock**_

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_I live for the applause, applause, applause_

_I live for the applause-plause_

_Live for the applause-plause_

_Live for the way that you cheer and scream for me_

_The applause, applause, applause_

_-Lady Gaga "Applause"_

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I walk into school Tuesday like I do every other day. Just like I own it. Because, hell, I'm pretty close to it. Not to sound full of myself or anything. That's just how it is, a common fact. People look up to me; it makes me feel good knowing it, too. The feeling of having people cheering me on at games, dying to get a glance at me, to shake my hand… It's unlike _anything _else. My dad raised me to believe it was the only important thing. Sports, talent, my status- it's all I have. I plan on keeping it.

Making my way down the hall, I go through the normal actions. Smile at the pretty girls, smile at the not so pretty girls, nod appreciatively at the staff, throw my hands up in a wave to my friends- all before I can even get to my locker. A reputation is hard to keep up. I shrug it off, and twist in my combination.

Just as I'm piling my books and binders into my bag, I hear two voices coming up behind me. Shortly after, I feel a hand on my shoulder, and a smile starts to form on my face. I know who's at my locker before I even turn to face them.

"Hey, jackasses." I shut my locker, and turn to grin jokingly at two of the very few people who know me well. The dark-haired boy with his hand on my shoulder is Dallas Jones. Admittedly, he's never been the sharpest crayon, but he has been one of my best friends ever since he moved to Miami in the third grade. I punch his arm good-naturedly and give him a half guy-hug. We're men, we just… do what we do.

Next, I turn to the lanky ginger at his side. Dez Walker is one of the strangest, most out there people you'd ever meet, but he's practically my brother, and his long legs make him one hell of a running back. He knows me better than anyone. We do our usual greeting, an elaborate handshake, ending in a loud, "Whaddup!" and then I get the usual question.

"Where's Brooke?" They both ring out at the same time, and I shrug my shoulders a bit as I readjust my bag on my back. Brooke Anderson is one of the hottest girls at Marino; she's tall with long, brown hair and an attitude to match her look. We've been together for almost two years now, and I couldn't ask for anyone better.

"I don't know, really. She could be anywhere." I raise my eyebrows a bit. We're usually attached at the hip, but this morning she text me to let me know that she didn't need a ride to school. I didn't think much about it, just brushed it off and worried about getting myself to Marino on time.

It looks like they're both about to say something when the bell cuts through the air, and the rest of the students in the hallway start to split, rushing off to whatever class they have the pleasure of sitting through first period. Something inside me snaps, and I start off towards my class. Turning back behind me I shout a quick, "AP Chem, can't be tardy! I'll catch up with you guys later!" I doubt they hear anything I've said though because they're both already running off to wherever they need to be. I decide to do the same.

I'm on a mad dash when I finally skid through the doorway of Ms. Walton's room. The thin, middle-aged woman is waiting for me, and I can tell by the lack of empty seats in the lab behind her that I'm definitely not the first person to arrive. She narrows her cold, dull blue eyes and purses her lips at me in disproval almost as if to say, "Tsk, tsk. Two days in and you're already about to earn yourself an afterschool detention." But, all I get is a, "I had the opportunity to pair up partners last night. You'll be in the back with Ms. Dawson." I give a small, innocent half-smile and raise my shoulders before slipping around her.

I'm halfway to my seat when the bell sounds again, and Ms. Walton closes the door briskly. The click of the lock sounds like a death sentence, and I have to resist from sighing when I slide onto my chair. I'm just glad I wasn't tardy because then I'd have a shiny new detention slip with my name on it. That could only mean God knows what punishment from my coach for missing practice and from my dad for both being tardy and not working at my sports. Both of the scariest men in my life angry at me for valid reasons. I'll just be on time for class.

It's then that I notice my name on a notecard taped to my side of the table. I smile to myself lightly at how nice my name looks printed, and then I see the matching card on the right side of the table top. It's taped down like mine, but instead of "Austin Moon" it says "Allyson Dawson" and I'm momentarily fazed because even printed her name looks so small and quiet. I look up from her card and see her, and I realize why her name even looks reclusive.

The girl to my right is the same small-framed brunette that I dozed over with a door yesterday. She hardly let me apologize before she ran off and left me standing in the hallway severely confused. I knew she was a Senior as well, but it isn't until now that I _really _remember who she is. She's the girl who lost her mom at the end of Freshman year to a freak car accident and ended up being messed up by it pretty bad. I think about trying to apologize again for the door, but something in her soft, doe eyes looks oddly vacant, so I leave her facing towards the board at the front of the room, and I settle with studying her from the side.

She's tucked into a big, gray hoodie, and I can barely make out the fading black letters that spell out "The Fray." **[1]** I nod to myself. That's one thing; her music taste is okay. Not that I'd ever admit that I like The Fray. Falling past her shoulders is her brown waves that end in a light vanilla color, and I notice that she keeps moving to tuck and untuck strands of it on either side of her face. It looks good tucked behind her ears, I note to myself.

I guess I've been staring for a while because when Ms. Walton speaks up from the front of the room, I jump. "Whoever you're sitting next to will be your partner for the remainder of this course. Get to know them; this year, a large portion of your grade will depend on your cooperation with them. This isn't Kindergarten anymore, either people. I will not be changing pairs just because you simply _do not like_ whoever you're working with. I didn't like my ex-husband, but I stuck it out for longer than a school year."

Before she can go full-blown Divorce Court on us with stories of her past relationship, I turn to my partner. I run my fingers through my blonde locks, tousling them, and straighten my white polo out of habit before I put on my best Austin Moon Smile. I put my hand out to her and square my shoulders confidently before speaking.

"Hi, I'm Austin Moon." I put as much charm as possible into my simple introduction, but with one flick of her eyes to me my smile blinks out, and I'm forced to draw back my hand. Keeping her eyes off me, they're on her baby blue binder sitting neatly in front of her, she speaks indifferently. I almost don't think she's answering me; the way she's doing it she could be talking to anyone, anything even. Her words just float out carefully into the air in front of her lips.

"I know. I'm Allyson Dawson, like you read on my card. I go by Ally, which you did not read on my card." She flicks a hand into her hair, and fingers sporting a chipped-black coat of paint work busily. Tuck, untuck. Tuck. Untuck.

"Okay, well we're going to be partners. Want to tell me anything about yourself?" I try desperately. I mean, I'm me. I can talk to anyone; carrying on conversations _is not_ hard. Until it is.

"No, not really." Tuck. Untuck.

"Nothing?"

"No." She settles on tucked, and drops her hands into her lap. Then, she turns to me for the first time since class started. Her mouth twitches slightly like she's weighing whether to say anything else, but I guess she decides against it because her mouth drops and I know it took whatever she might've said with it. Her calculating eyes only stay on me a minute more before she goes back to looking at the board. She's taken me back about ten steps, and I have no idea what to say, and then that sets me back another ten steps because she has me speechless and feeling awkward, and Austin Moon _never_ does either of those things.

"Have I done something to you?"

"No." One syllable. Whatever is on the board is more interesting than the look on my face because she keeps on staring.

"Well, alright then." I look at the board, too. It's blank.

I spend the rest of the class staring at Allyson, _Ally, _and trying to come up with a way to get a reaction out of her. A smile, a laugh, a response that _isn't_ sarcastic and borderline insulting. We're surrounded by a classroom full of people laughing and talking, and that only frustrates me more because I'm never one of the ones left out. If anything, some other sorry guy should be watching me having a good time getting to know my partner while they sit next to a rock disguised as a human girl. I huff, and pout like a little boy about to throw a tantrum before I realize that makes me look immature. I don't want to look like a brat used to getting his way, even if I _might_ have slight experience as that guy.

I know it's getting close to the end of class when everyone starts packing up, even Stonehenge to my right. I snap my eyes to the clock and realize I have less than a minute to come up with some way of starting my partnership off on a good foot. _Come on, Austin. It's just like a game. The final seconds, the last play. All of your men are blocked, and you're carrying the game point on your back. Find a way out; notice the details, the weak links, come up with a solution. _It hits me like a ton of bricks.

Leaning over to her ear, I brace myself and hope she doesn't slap me for invading her space. If this doesn't work I'm going to look like a major freak. She's got her backpack on now, and her eyes have finally left the board to focus on the clock on the wall. No doubt, she's counting the seconds. It's now or never.

_"I never knew; I never knew that everything was falling through. That everyone I knew was waiting on a cue,"_ **[2]** I whisper-sing the opening words to one of my favorite The Fray songs in her ear. I can't believe I'm singing in public-even if it is a whisper-to a girl I hardly know. Other than family, only Dez has heard me sing, and it's not an often occurrence.

Behind the curtain of her now untucked hair, I can see a small smile forming. She's fighting it though, because as soon as the bell rings, two seconds later, her lips crash back down, and with her eyes on the floor she fights her way into the wave or students flooding into the roaring hallways.

Watching her go, all I can think is _I win. _Then, a little voice pops up to remind me that it wasn't a full smile. _Close enough. _With astonished accomplishment, I sit on my stool a bit longer before the threat of a tardy to AP Lit has me up and running all over again.

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**I want to say thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed, and favorited! I know that the build up is a bit slow, but after these first few chapters that set up the back drop for the story, things will start to move a little faster! I hope you like the story so far, and stop on by and leave me a review with your thoughts; they are _greatly_****appreciated!**

**[1] I do not own the band The Fray.**

**[2] Nor do I own their song Over my Head.**

**Thanks again for reading, lovelies. **

**-Taylor**


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